Sinners of Magic

by Lynette Creswell

  The blade was pushed up into his chest and the impact forced a shudder through the metal, which sliced through flesh and bone, and within the realm of darkness Abbadon was beckoned to the extraordinary world. King Gamada, who’d been caught by the element of surprise, could only gasp in sheer horror as he watched the enchanted sword slice its way between his ribcage in search of his heart. No amount of magic could save him now; he had been ill-prepared for such a vicious attack.

  Forusian finally let go of the sword and watched the king with morbid curiosity clutching frantically at his chest in an attempt to remove the blade. A hideous wail filled the chamber when Death entered and hovered over the dying king. The room’s temperature dropped and the stench of Death was overpowering. Abbadon reached out and touched Gamada, using his skeletal fingers to stop his beating heart, but Gamada would not give in, refusing to die so easily.

  Forusian’s eyes turned to slits and the corners of his mouth hung in a deep frown. With the strength of the damned he pulled the sword from the king’s chest and blood splattered onto Forusian’s face, causing him to flinch, but he quickly recovered his composure and grabbed a shirt folded neatly on a nearby chair. He wiped his face clean, furious that the blood had marked his clothing, before cleaning the blade with it.

  ‘You were always so pathetic,’ he snarled, placing the sword back into its sheath. ‘Did you really think you could outfox me? For all your magic and knowledge of this world you really are a bitter disappointment. I had hoped you would have been a bit more of a – challenge.’

  He bent towards the dying king and placed his lips close to his ear.

  ‘You know, I will marry your granddaughter,’ he hissed, watching horror fill the king’s dark eyes. ‘She’s being a little difficult, but I’m sure that’s all about to change and besides,’ he added, pulling a look of genuine distaste, ‘I just couldn’t possibly see you as my in-law.’

  Gamada slipped in and out of consciousness and Forusian looked without remorse towards Death’s shadowy figure.

  ‘He’s all yours,’ he said, taking a step back and almost slipping on the pool of blood which was congealing at his feet. ‘My part of the bargain is complete.’

  Forusian turned and left the room as quietly as he had entered, content in the knowledge that he was one step closer to his goal.

  Whilst King Gamada clung to the last threads of his life, he watched his bedclothes turn into a sea of crimson. In desperation he dragged himself to the edge, followed closely by Death, and he fell with a heavy thud onto the hard surface of the floor. With the shaky hand of a dying man he spelt out a word in his own blood, the word creating a bright scarlet stain on the floor.

  ‘Amella,’ he croaked, but her name came out only as a gurgle of blood upon his lips and, with one last agonising intake of breath, his head fell back and he was dead.

  Upon the king’s sickening demise a ghostly green apparition floated above his body. Abbadon’s chest swelled in triumph, filling the room with dark malice. With a bloodcurdling howl he sucked in the green matter until it became caged with the rest of his terrified souls. His master would be very pleased with his majestic prize, a prize he had been promised for so long.

  It was at that moment when Elveria felt the cold hand of Death brush his senses and he looked with concern at Amafar, who showed by the look on his face that he had sensed it also. A look of horror blew across their faces and they hurriedly left their lookout post and ran with baited breath to King Gamada’s chamber. They pushed open his bedroom door, but only an eerie silence welcomed them in.

  ‘King Gamada!’ Elveria called out, trying to hide the panic in his voice when he took a step inside. He’d only just made it over the threshold before he saw the king’s lifeless body lying on the bedroom floor. Beside him the word ‘Forusian’ was written in his blood, evidence that there could be no doubt as to who had done this wicked deed.

  Elveria put a shaky hand over his eyes; his feet stood stone still but his legs wobbled like jelly. Amafar moved with haste to the king’s side, taking his pulse and examining him closely.

  ‘He’s dead,’ he pronounced, lowering his gaze.

  ‘I can see that,’ snapped Elveria, bringing his fist to his mouth. ‘He’s been murdered in cold blood right under our very noses.’

  Amafar looked again at the grey face of King Gamada. Waving his hands over the body, he closed his eyes in meditation. Using his magic, he relived the last moments of the king’s life. After a few moments his body was rocked with an immense pain that pierced straight into his heart and he was unable to stop the cry which left his trembling lips. Dropping his arms down by his side, he collapsed to the floor and, although the pain subsided, he felt Death linger.

  Elveria was distraught.

  ‘How could I have been so blind?’ he wailed, watching Amafar get to his feet. ‘Forusian had every intention of making sure King Gamada was out of the equation, I should have seen this coming,’ he gasped, and with his spirit shattered, he knelt beside the king.

  ‘I never truly believed Forusian would stoop so low,’ he told the dead king with genuine sorrow filling his eyes. ‘And for my stupidity, you have paid with your life.’

  Amafar placed himself by Elveria’s side and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, a gesture of comradeship.

  ‘You were not to know,’ he said, trying to soothe him, but he knew Elveria spoke the truth.

  Finding no comfort in Amafar’s words, Elveria left the king’s side and started to pace the floor, his eyes searching for clues. Elveria turned to Amafar; the lines on his face appeared much deeper.

  ‘Bridgemear’s daughter is in great danger,’ said the elder mage, aware of the seriousness of his words. ‘I believe Forusian knows far more than we first thought. I think he has a hidden agenda.’

  His eyes narrowed and the wisdom of his years began to show.

  ‘Crystal is also second in line to the throne of Nine Winters,’ he continued. ‘Think what that could mean if he were to somehow become her husband and Amella is never found.’

  A shrill cry came from outside the window. Both Elveria and Amafar were startled, but Amafar was the first to recover, reaching out to open it. A darkening silhouette choked the light from the room before the body of a hawk entered the chamber. It flew inside, perching on the bedstead, its feathers ruffled and its beady eyes focused on the dead king. A strange vibration filled the room when Voleton changed back into his human image.

  ‘I am much too late,’ he cried, when he was finally able to speak. He cast his eyes towards the king’s body before holding Elveria’s stony gaze.

  ‘What? You knew this was going to happen?’ asked Amafar in dismay.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Voleton answered, feeling the piercing eyes of Elveria burrow into his skull.

  ‘Forusian tricked us all. He placed one of King Gamada’s own men inside the tower and whilst I wasted time guessing what Forusian had done with Crystal, someone was taking the gold and my horse.’

  ‘And he took Gamada’s life,’ added Elveria, watching Amafar move towards the chamber door.

  ‘I will send for the guards,’ Amafar told him, ignoring his cold stare, ‘they can at least take him to the healer, Sawbones.’

  ‘And what good will that do now?’ sighed Elveria, pulling his cloak close to try to stop the chill which filled his old bones.

  Amafar shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘They will need to take care of his body and get him ready for burial,’ he said, watching Elveria’s mouth set in a tight line.

  ‘Very well,’ stated the elder mage, looking grave. ‘Indeed, it is time they learnt what has happened and how we failed to protect their king.’

  ‘You are being too harsh,’ snapped Amafar, becoming tense. ‘The king should have told us sooner of Crystal’s return and perhaps this could have been avoided.’

  For a moment the two magicians appeared to study each other with open resentment until Elveria coughed and cleared his throat.
>
  ‘Do you really think we could have saved him?’ Elveria asked, pointing a bony finger towards the dead king. ‘Do you honestly believe this could have been so easily averted? My, how ignorant of the times you are, my young mage.’

  Amafar flashed an angry scowl and stormed off, not wishing to start a fight.

  ‘What’s the next step?’ asked Voleton, bending down over Gamada’s body and placing a large flat coin on top of each eyelid.

  ‘We have no choice but to ride to Forusian’s castle and meet with Bridgemear. I fear we are heading towards a great battle of which I know nothing of the outcome.’

  Voleton rose from his knees and looked out of the window.

  ‘Do you want me to saddle the horses?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, we cannot stay; we must concentrate on this new task set before us.’

  ‘But what will we do about the burial of the king? We cannot leave without paying our last respects.’

  ‘We have lost our respect,’ hissed Elveria, hanging his head in shame. ‘We must leave and find our honour once more, for we have the humiliation upon us for allowing Forusian to kill the king right under our very noses. We must revenge his death and only then will we have enough dignity to pay our overdue respects to him.’

  ‘It isn’t all our doing,’ said Voleton, his eyes turning hard.

  ‘It goes deeper than that,’ said Elveria. ‘Someday perhaps I will speak of it.’

  ‘Is it because of what happened to Crystal?’

  ‘Partly,’ admitted Elveria, ‘but now is not the time to discuss my failures.’

  ‘Very well, I will see to the horses,’ said Voleton, heading towards the door.

  ‘Thank you, my friend,’ said Elveria nodding his head. ‘We ride the moment they are ready.’

  Chapter 19

  Crystal slept fitfully on Amella’s makeshift bed. The following day at early dawn, Amella woke her with the distinct smell of something burning. Her neck was stiff from the uncomfortable night’s sleep and her mouth was dry and furry.

  ‘What’s on fire?’ she asked, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  ‘Breakfast!’ came Amella’s flustered reply, and Crystal watched her grab an old cloth and waft the billowing smoke towards the door.

  Crystal stifled a yawn and stretched.

  ‘Er, no thanks,’ she said, returning her head back to the lumpy pillow. ‘I’m not really hungry.’

  ‘Come on, up with you!’ Amella scolded, rushing towards her and pulling roughly at her pillow. ‘As my father always said, time enough for sleep when you’re dead.’

  Crystal pulled open her eyes to see Amella standing over her with her hands planted firmly on her hips.

  ‘So, do you want something to eat or not?’ Amella clucked.

  ‘Well, no, not if it’s cremated,’ Crystal replied, pulling a face that caused Amella to give her young guest a glare of irritation. She moved back towards the stove, picking up a plate and proceeding to shove it under Crystal’s nose.

  ‘Look, not all of its burnt,’ she insisted, with a sniff. ‘The feefalas is a bit overcooked I admit, but everything else is fine.’

  Crystal looked down at the bright yellow egg yolk and the juicy button mushrooms and instantly changed her mind.

  ‘In that case I would be most grateful,’ she said, jumping out of bed and allowing a smile to play mischievously upon her lips. The protective barrier that had been between them the previous night when she had first arrived was beginning to crumble away, leaving the contours of a new friendship in its place. It was also obvious that Amella was becoming more tolerant of her new friend and once she had filled her own plate, she wasted no time tucking in.

  Crystal stared at Amella, noting how she ate like a lady even though she lived as a common hermit. The precisely cut pieces of food were placed with grace towards her lips and Crystal felt a slight tingle of suspicion prickle the back of her spine. It was clear to her that Amella had not always lived a life of solitude in these bleak and lonely woods, and she became curious.

  They soon cleared their plates away and busied themselves with settling the hut ready for Amella’s imminent departure. Once satisfied everything was secure, Amella stood outside her somewhat meagre home and surveyed her surroundings with a critical eye. Leaving all that she owned behind didn’t cause her to worry; this place had only ever been somewhere to shelter from the cold and she turned away ready to start a new chapter in her life.

  In one of her hands she carried a small oil lantern and in the other a thin blanket that she tied into a bundle containing a chunk of fresh bread, a soft, brown paste and a flask of fresh spring water. Her clothes were ordinary and tatty, but her outward manner was smart and resolute. Her eyes shone with anticipation and her nostrils flared with a sense of excitement.

  ‘Come on, let’s go,’ she said, her voice bright. ‘It’s time we made haste and rescued your friend.’

  Her pace was swift and tireless and Crystal found it difficult to keep up with her. The morning sun was glaring between the trees, causing her to sweat and make her eyes seem somewhat bleary.

  ‘Please slow down,’ Crystal moaned, when a sharp stitch pierced her side, ‘we don’t have to kill ourselves before we get there!’

  Amella ignored her whining and continued with the quick pace, realising time was of the essence and aware her plan would only work in the light of day.

  By mid-morning they came upon a tree; it was a magnificent specimen of a giant oak, its bark deeply etched with the age of time. Amella bent down and scraped away the soil with her bare hands to reveal an object wrapped up in a piece of torn linen and tied with string. The string was knotted, and she used her nimble fingers to swiftly unravel it. Pulling away the cloth she revealed an astounding piece of jewellery. It was a large brooch in the unusual shape of a black raven and in each eye sat an exquisitely cut diamond, as large as a pea. It had two feathery wings, which could be manipulated by hand to become outstretched, and its body was made of a mineral that shone like jet. With a sudden hint of mischief, the sunlight caught the sparkling gems within its bright rays. A rainbow of colour shot from the raven’s eyes, producing a kaleidoscopic beam which rested close to where they stood.

  ‘Quick,’ urged Amella, scrambling to pick up their provisions. ‘The raven has created a doorway for us to enter, but we don’t have much time. Please hurry and go and open it.’

  Crystal was surprised, but she did not falter and in one swift step she reached the spot where the colourful beam rested upon the ground. She took only a second to focus beyond the bright light and see a dark circle protruding from the earth. She entwined her fingers around a heavy ring which appeared before her eyes and with a twist of her wrist pulled sharply. The soil gave way underfoot and a doorway fell open to reveal a dark tunnel.

  Amella moved to Crystal’s side and urged her protégé to get into the hole. Crystal hesitated, afraid of the unknown, but Amella wasted no time dallying and with a gentle push forced her inside.

  The entranceway immediately closed above their heads, smothering out the daylight; Amella lit the lantern and the tunnel filled with a golden glow. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, Amella folded the wings of the raven back into place before placing the brooch into the safety of her skirt pocket.

  ‘Where are we?’ Crystal asked, looking around and seeing nothing but dark soil and walls of earth.

  ‘We’re in a forest chamber,’ Amella explained, taking the lead. ‘If we’re lucky it should take us somewhere close to the castle walls,’

  ‘I must say, what you just did with that brooch was pretty impressive,’ marvelled Crystal, her eyes still sparkling with wonder. ‘I’ve never seen a brooch like that before.’

  ‘It’s a very rare jewel,’ Amella agreed. ‘However, I must tell you that the magic contained inside only works with the power of natural daylight.’ Crystal was still impressed.

  ‘Where did you get such a brooch?’ she asked, wishing to know more about
the jewel.

  Amella fell silent, but her thoughts flew back to a single moment lived many years before when the love of her life sat next to her by a sparkling waterfall glowing with the love they shared, exchanging gifts. She had given her lover a traditional elfish present of a brooch filled with jewels the colour of her eyes. He in return had offered her a similar gift, knowing how much it would mean to her. However, his gift was extra special, concealing a magic spell within its beauty. The raven held a means of escape, a gift Bridgemear felt she may need in time.

  Pain crushed Amella’s chest, causing her to gasp. Bridgemear had given her this brooch in case she should ever encounter danger, but he’d never intended for her to use it in such a way.

  Amella and Crystal wandered on until a halo of bright light shone before them.

  ‘Look, there’s our exit out of here,’ Amella cried, adjusting the oil lamp. ‘Let’s make our way back towards the sun as quickly as we can.’

  Relief flooded Crystal’s mind; she hated the darkness and was suffering the effects of Amella’s black mood and so she ran ahead, wanting to reach the daylight first. Crystal clambered out of the tunnel and greeted the fresh air which blew against her skin with a grateful smile. Amella soon emerged, pulling herself out of the hole, and she shielded her eyes when the sun appeared to blind her.

  The castle loomed in the foreground with its evil proprietor concealed for the moment from view; Amella dusted off her skirt and shook fine particles of dirt from out of her hair, with one eye forever watchful on the fortress of depravity.

  Within minutes they were climbing a deep incline; their exit from an overgrown iron grate remained concealed within a grassy bank.

  ‘We haven’t got much further to go,’ Amella said when Crystal became short of breath. ‘We are virtually a stone’s throw away from the castle entrance.’